Generations
by Ael L. Bolt
Summary: PostHogwarts. It’s Christmas at Ron and Hermione’s house, and all the Weasleys are present for what promises to be a fantastic annual celebration, but one honorary Weasley isn’t quite in the holiday spirit.


Generations  
  
By Ael L. Bolt  
  
Rating: PG-13 for self-mutilation  
  
Genre: Angst  
  
Codes: Ron/Hermione, Percy/Penelope, Bill/Fleur, hints of Harry/Ginny  
  
Timeframe: Quite a few years after Hogwarts  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP  
  
Summary: It's Christmas at the Red Owlery (also known as Ron and Hermione's house) and all the Weasleys are present for what promises to be a fantastic annual celebration, but one honorary Weasley isn't quite in the holiday spirit.  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Brothers Pictures, Scholastic Publishing, and Bloomsbury Books.  
  
Author's Notes: This is partially inspired by Star Trek Generations. Horrible movie, but it got me thinking. See quote at beginning of fic.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"What I can't get out of my mind is the image of Rene - my nephew. I just can't believe he's gone."  
  
"It's only natural to feel a heightened sense of tragedy when a child dies. But it goes deeper than that, doesn't it? I can sense that Rene meant a great deal to you."  
  
"In a way, he was as close as I ever came to having a child of my own."  
  
"Your family history is very important to you, isn't it?"  
  
"Ever since I was a little boy, I remember hearing about the family line. The Picards that fought at Trafalgar, the Picards that settled the first Martian colony. When my brother married and had a son..."  
  
"You felt it was no longer your responsibility to carry on the family line."  
  
"My brother had shouldered that burden, allowing me to pursue my own selfish needs."  
  
"There's nothing selfish about pursuing your own life, your own career."  
  
"You know, Counselor, I'm not getting any younger. For some time now, I've been aware that there are fewer days ahead than there are behind. But I always took comfort in the fact that when I was gone, my family would continue. But now...I've had brushes with death...more than I care to contemplate. I always accepted it as a calculated risk that goes along with wearing this uniform. But now, the idea of death has a terrible sense of finality to it. I'm the last Picard."  
  
-Picard and Troi, original "Star Trek Generations" script  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The doorbell rang. Well, to be more accurate, it hooted. Ron had never figured out exactly why Hermione insisted on having an owl as a doorknocker, but then again, she didn't really need a reason.  
  
"Ron, get the door!"  
  
"Why me? You're closer!"  
  
"It's probably more of your relatives, plus this is your house too! Not to mention I'm busy with Katia."  
  
Ron sighed, knowing there was no arguing with Hermione while she was in her "mommy mode," and got up to answer the door. He stepped over the twins, who were both thoroughly sloshed and consequently passed out on the floor, and opened the door to reveal Percy, his wife Penelope, and their six children - Ron could never remember all their names - who immediately ran screaming and laughing into the Red Owlery to see the Christmas tree and their cousins. Percy scowled disapprovingly, but Ron yanked him inside before he could say anything. "It's Christmas, let them have their fun," he scolded his older brother even as the newly-appointed Minister of Magic opened his mouth to protest.  
  
Charlie looked up from where he sat on the couch with Bill and Fleur. "Aha, our esteemed Minister has paid us a visit!" he teased with a smirk.  
  
"It's nice to know we're not beneath his notice," Bill agreed immediately.  
  
Before Percy could tell them off properly, he was swept into a trademark Molly Weasley hug as she and Arthur arrived as well. "Oh Percy, we're so proud of you! First prefect, then Head Boy, now Minister!"  
  
"Mum!" Percy protested as his mother's embrace threatened to knock his glasses off his nose.  
  
Ron had scarcely closed the door when there was a popping sound of someone Apparating, and another hoot from the doorknocker. Ron flung open the door again in annoyance and was suddenly knocked to the floor. "Ronald, dear brother, it's so good to see you again!"  
  
Ron groaned. "Hi Ginny. Mind getting off me?"  
  
His sister grinned and lightly jumped off, and proceeded to purposely trample Fred and George on the way to the couch to give Charlie and Bill their hugs.  
  
Hermione came out of the study with a baby girl in her arms - and two seven- year-old twin boys following close behind - and suddenly Molly had another target for her affections. "Is everyone here, then?" she asked as she handed Katia over to her mother-in-law.  
  
"All except for one," Ron said, eyeing the door which was closed once again. "It was a full moon last night, 'Mione. Are you sure he's coming?"  
  
Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "He told me he wouldn't miss it for the world. He'll be here."  
  
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, there was a tapping on the window in the dining room and a loud trill. Hermione opened the pane and let in an enormous scarlet and gold phoenix with glowing emerald eyes and a golden lightning bolt on its forehead. In its talons was a large sack, filled with Christmas gifts of various sizes. The phoenix carefully set its burden down on the kitchen counter and landed on the floor. With a pop of displaced air, the magical bird was replaced by a tired-looking young man with unmistakable, scruffy black hair - well, hair that used to be black, and was now partially white in streaks. "Sorry I'm late," he said, stifling a yawn. "Was up all night with Remus."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ron said, shoving a mug of hot coffee into his friend's hands. "Just hurry up and drink that before the kids realize you're here."  
  
Ever since the loss of Sirius in 1996, Harry had taken over the job of keeping Remus Lupin company on the night of the full moon. He had become an Animagus in record time - two months - and as a magical Animagus, he had a limited amount of alternate forms he could assume if he wished. Harry preferred to spend the full moon night as a large black stag in memory of his father, and even Moony agreed that he was most comfortable being around the reminder of Prongs. Even though the stress of staying up thirty-six hours on school days once a month - in addition to the usual worries of Voldemort, Quidditch, and NEWTs - had made his hair prematurely go white, Harry had never missed a full moon unless he was unconscious in the hospital wing.  
  
"Why didn't you bring Remus along with you, then?" Hermione asked. "Too exhausted?"  
  
"Yeah. He'll be sleeping all day." Harry downed the coffee in one gulp and seemed to wake up a bit. "Have I missed anything important?"  
  
"Nah, just the traditional Weasley hug-and-tackle-fest," Ron said.  
  
"UNCLE HARRY!"  
  
The cry had come from Bill and Fleur's nine-year-old son Jean-Paul, who had apparently been put on watch duty with his three-year-old sister Cleo and had sounded the alarm. Within seconds there was a swarm of children in the room, clinging to Harry's legs and arms. Eleven voices competed for their favorite "Uncle's" attention - and gifts.  
  
Ron didn't bother to hide his smile as he watched Harry calmly and patiently manage to quiet them all down simultaneously and promise each one a special gift to open tomorrow morning. For someone whose only interaction with other children before Hogwarts had only been his spoiled-beyond-belief cousin Dudley, and who had no children of his own, he was quite gifted with understanding the youngsters and making them all feel special. Even though he was exhausted and nearly on the edge of collapse, Harry treated the kids like royalty.  
  
With a few well-chosen words, Harry sent the children back out to the living room to put their gifts under the tree. Ron shook his head at his friend. "Mate, you're going to spoil them all rotten," he said in a mock- scolding tone, grinning.  
  
"They deserve to be spoiled," Harry replied. "If I could, I would give them anything and everything I never got when I was that young." His smile seemed forced, and there was a flicker of sadness in those deep green eyes. The Boy Who Lived shook his head as if to dispel dark thoughts and picked up the sack of presents. "Well then, I'll go put these under the tree. Didn't just bring gifts for the kids, you know."  
  
Hermione and Ron watched him disappear into the next room. "I'm worried about him," Hermione admitted softly, knowing that Harry's amazingly acute hearing would otherwise catch her words. "I mean, he's always been a bit downtrodden around the holidays, but now he's borderline depressed and I don't know why. It's almost like he's lonely."  
  
Ron snorted. "How can he be lonely? He's literally surrounded by my entire extended family and he knows he can come to us anytime, no matter what the reason. He's the bloody Hogwarts Headmaster, for Merlin's sake."  
  
Hermione shook her head, knowing Ron wouldn't understand. "He's relyed solely on himself for so long, it's programmed deep into him. He puts on a brave face for the world, but I think that inside he's still in that cupboard under the stairs, afraid that he'll wake up one morning and find out he's nothing but a worthless boy whom no one loves."  
  
Ron nodded. "It's amazing that he's lasted this long, actually. I would've thought he would have moved on by now and found himself a wife, had a few kids."  
  
Impossibly, Harry must have heard this comment because his posture stiffened immediately. He made a strained-sounding excuse to the Weasleys and abruptly left the house. Ron and Hermione shared an alarmed look, and Ginny grabbed her coat. "I'll go after him," she announced, and hurried to catch up with him.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Harry fled through the woods, not bothering to pay attention to where he was going. Ron's words were still ringing in his ears amidst the laughter of the children. 'I would've thought he would have moved on by now...had a few kids...' He choked back a shout of despair, fighting down the sudden urge to wail and curse any diety that existed.  
  
He was abruptly startled out of his darkening mood when he came across a lake that had not quite frozen over completely. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the black, frigid water, the toes of his dragonhide boots submerged in the deathly cold lake. He absently rubbed at his scar, musing at the gifts - and curses - it had bestowed upon him. Suddenly furious with himself, he ripped off his gloves and began to claw at his forehead as if determined to tear the scar off. Blood spattered on the white snow, staining the area bright crimson. He didn't feel the pain, but he knew that the lightning bolt remained there, mocking him with its immovibility. He screamed in rage, sinking to his knees, ignoring the biting cold as the lakewater soaked through the knees of his trousers, and clutched his hands to his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, forbidding himself to cry as he knelt on the shore.  
  
He was scarcely aware when soft hands pried his own bloodied ones from his face until he felt wet cloth on his scar. He opened his eyes a crack and was met with coppery hair and brown eyes. He groaned, almost inaudibly. Ginny had followed him, been witness to his loss of self-control. She must have thought him completely mad. And yet...she was taking great care to remove the blood from his skin as if nothing unusual had happened.  
  
"Ginny," he rumbled, and the hoarseness of his own voice surprised him. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Taking care of you," she replied cooly as she continued to clean his fresh wounds. "Everyone's worried about you, and I can imagine they're even more so now that you left so suddenly." Her brown eyes watched him carefully, and he saw a bit of the old Ginny in her, the one who would blush like a tomato if she even heard his name mentioned. "Want to talk about it?"  
  
Talk about it? What a novel idea, Harry thought somewhat nastily. He pushed her hand away and stared out across the lake. Ginny made no move to reach for him again, but he knew she was watching him. After a moment of silence, she sighed softly and made as if to leave.  
  
Harry had a flash of guilt, and reached out to grab her sleeve. "Don't go," he pleaded. "I'm just...collecting my thoughts." Ginny smiled knowingly and knelt down next to him again.  
  
Harry paused, using the moment to pull himself back together. Time to grab the bull by the horns, he told himself. "My entire life, I've been without my parents," he began without looking at her, unwilling to see the pity in her eyes. "I spent ten years neglected and abused, and my first Christmas at Hogwarts was a real shock because it was the first time I could remember anyone caring enough to notice my existance enough to get me something. I called myself the only Potter left, because I knew I was the only survivor of a long and proud line of pureblood Potters." He paused to heave a great, shuddering sigh. "But this Christmas is different, Ginny. I know now that I am not just the only Potter, but I am the last."  
  
"Harry, that's not true!" Ginny blurted. "You-Kn...Voldemort and the Death Eaters are gone, you don't have to push anyone away for fear of them being targeted. I'm sure you'll find a lovely wife who's willing to carry on the family."  
  
Harry shook his head in despair. "If only that were so. I wish it were possible, but fact remains. I am the last Potter." He reached up to lightly tap the lightning bolt scar, which was still clearly visible despite the torn flesh surrounding it. "Voldemort gave me certain powers through this - the ability to speak parseltongue, for one - but it's still a curse scar. Not only because it was formed by a curse, but because it carries one as well. I am physically unable to father a child." He swallowed hard, hugging his knees to his chest in an uncharacteristically childish manner. "The doctors at St. Mungo's have told me there's nothing they or anyone else can do about it. When I die, the Potter family dies with me."  
  
Ginny's heart broke for this long-suffering man. This time when she reached for him, he allowed her to pull him close as he finally broke down into heavy, wracking sobs. She stroked his hair as he cried on her shoulder, murmuring soothing nonsense words into his ear.  
  
~~~~~  
  
It was nearly eleven-thirty when Ron finally saw the two return from the forest. He heaved a great sigh of relief and called back to Hermione. "They're back, 'Mione." But somehow he sensed that he shouldn't bother them at that moment, so he simply watched from the shadows as Ginny, one arm across the tall man's shoulders, led him up the staircase to his guest room. She emerged five minutes later and quietly made her way down to the living room. Her coat had traces of blood on it, and he somehow knew that it wasn't hers.  
  
"How is he?" Hermione asked as the three sat around the massive fireplace where the embers still glowed.  
  
Ginny considered that for a moment. "Better than he was. Not quite fine, but he's more likely to get there now."  
  
"Did you find out why he left?" Ron asked, handing her a cup of cocoa.  
  
Ginny nodded as she sipped the steaming beverage. "Harry found out a few days ago that his scar carries a curse within it that he hadn't previously known about. He is physically incapable of carrying on the Potter family line, and he is the last of the Potters."  
  
Ron paled. "Cor blimey. That's why he was so rattled." He guiltily cast a glance at the staircase. "I really put my foot in it, didn't I?"  
  
Hermione put her hand on his arm. "You couldn't have known."  
  
Ron sighed explosively. "I feel like such a prat."  
  
Ginny, despite the atmosphere, couldn't resist. "You've always been a prat." She downed her mug of cocoa. "Enough of the depression already," she declared. "It's Christmas Eve and I'm going to bed. See you when the young galloping horde awakens around four in the morning."  
  
~~~~~  
  
True to form, the next morning did indeed see the children up and about - quite noisily - at an indecent hour. Bill and Fleur's two children had been the catalyst, of course, as they had quickly roused the other youngsters and set them upon the adults. Thus Harry was awakened at six o'clock by Ron and Hermione's twins, who were enthusiastically bouncing on his mattress.  
  
Harry groaned. "Dave, Mike, isn't it a bit early for my bed to be under siege?" The twins laughed despite not having a clue what he said and tried to pull him off the bed by his legs. "All right, all right, I'm up!" he said more loudly. "Tell Ron I'll be down in a minute." Giggling, the boys ran out of his room and stampeded down the hall to Charlie's room.  
  
Harry sat up and rubbed at his eyes, automatically reaching for glasses which were no longer needed. He paused for a moment as he felt a bandage wrapped around his forehead, puzzling over its existance before remebering the previous night. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and peeled the cloth back, examining the damage in the mirror. He had managed to mangle his forehead pretty badly all around the scar, yet hadn't affected the shape of the mark at all. Thanks to the scar's very presence, the wounds would have to heal naturally.  
  
"That's quite a nasty cut there, deary," the mirror informed him sleepily. "That girl was right to cover it up."  
  
Harry snorted, and replaced the bandage. He was bound to be stared at by the children, but they would no doubt accept it as one of "Uncle Harry's" many oddities. He suddenly noticed that he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday (sans lake-soaked pants, which made him smirk at the thought of Ginny pulling them off his mostly-unconscious body for completely innocent reasons), and changed his clothes. With a pop, he became the bright phoenix again and flew out the door.  
  
Harry perched on the back of the couch and trilled a good morning to all, before taking his usual form again and grabbing a mug of coffee. "Happy Christmas, everyone." Bill mumbled something incoherant in reply, and Fred and George grabbed their heads in apparent agony.  
  
"Oh, don't talk so loud," one twin moaned.  
  
"We have the world's worst hangovers," the other agreed.  
  
Harry grinned unsympathetically. "That's what you get for spiking the eggnog last year." He continued on to the kitchen, where Hermione was up and frying bacon and eggs. "Morning, 'Mione," he said, tapping her shoulder. "Those twin terrors of yours almost broke my headboard."  
  
"They'll do that," she agreed, turning around to give him a quick hug. Hugging was not something Harry was usually comfortable with, as he was so used to thinking of touch bringing pain instead of pleasure, but over the years he had become mostly tolerant of physical contact. Now was one of the rare times in which he was almost completely at ease with it.  
  
She pulled back to look up into his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked, watching him closely in concern.  
  
He started to nod, then checked himself and shook his head instead. It was time for him to stop denying help, and accept that he was no longer alone.  
  
"No," he told her, feeling as if a large weight had lifted off his chest. "No. But I will be."  
  
The End. 


End file.
